


(All things) By a law divine

by OhAine



Series: Memoirs of a Pathologist [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fantasy dubcon but no actual dubcon, Interrogator Sherlock, Oh! I almost forgot...Spanking, Oral Sex, PWP, Penetrative Sex, Please see notes for additional warnings, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sexual Fantasy, Sherlolly - Freeform, Smut, Suspect Molly, Themes including voyeurism & rough sex in the context of a sexual fantasy role play, and dirty talk, lots of dirty talk, mollock, newly weds in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-23
Updated: 2016-01-23
Packaged: 2018-05-15 18:32:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5795386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OhAine/pseuds/OhAine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock knelt naked on their bed, a halo of silver iris shining around darkened eyes, his skin glowing in the low light. Inky eyelashes cast shadows across his high cheekbones, his lips achingly perfect and rosy from wine, and long graceful limbs held with the elegance and poise of an artist’s model; his lean body that of a runner or a dancer, his face in half-light that of a carved angel. </p>
<p>“So tell me, what little game have you been thinking about, my sweet, filthy girl.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Molly shares a fantasy with Sherlock.</p>
            </blockquote>





	(All things) By a law divine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lilsherlockian1975](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilsherlockian1975/gifts), [Mr_OhAine](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Mr_OhAine).



> Warning!!! This story describes a sexual fantasy that involves dubcon elements, shared between consenting and loving adults in the context of a safe and happy relationship. Although there is no actual dubcon I would advise readers who may be triggered to proceed with caution. If anyone has specific concerns, please contact me anonymously through the comments section and I will be more than happy to answer any questions you may have.
> 
> For the lovely and talented Lily; Sorry date night was snowed out, maybe you and Mr Lil can find inspiration in this story for an indoor activity?!
> 
> And for the equally lovely and talented Mr OhAine; thank you for 22 years of poetry my Darling G.
> 
> Beta'd by the ever patient and supportive MaybeItsJustMyType, but needless to say all remaining mistakes are my own.
> 
> Title taken from Shelley's 'Love's Philosophy'
> 
> I own nothing but my filthy mind...

* * *

 

 

“God, I need a drink,” Molly muttered to herself, dropping her bag and coat onto the sofa and flopping gracelessly beside them.

 

It had been a _long_ day.

 

A double murder, and a boring one at that – well at least according to Sherlock who had solved the case by text message in under two minutes – a department meeting that lasted an eternity, and a broken down car in the bus lane causing traffic chaos on her way back to Baker Street had all coalesced into the perfect rotten day.

 

“Already poured and waiting for you,” Sherlock, purred in a low timbre. His blue silk dressing gown clung to his shower damp body but fell open to reveal his naked porcelain skin when he dipped his head to softly kiss her lips. A rivulet of water ran from his chocolate coloured locks down his long throat and settled in his suprasternal notch; Molly fought the urge to lick it away.

 

“There’s a glass of Merlot sitting on the edge of the bath I’ve drawn for you. Up, hop to it woman,” he hauled her from the couch with a single hand, smacking her arse playfully, “before the water goes cold.”

 

Taking his glass of wine from him, Molly swirled the ruby liquid around the bowl and drank deeply. She kissed him, alcohol tingling on her lips, and traced her fingers along his jawline, asking, “What have I done to deserve you?”

 

“Nothing so heinous as to warrant the life sentence I intend to make you endure, but,” he sighed, good-humouredly resigned and teasing her, his smile dazzling and real, “that doesn’t mean I’m letting you get away from me.”

 

“Maybe I don’t want to be set free,” standing on her tiptoes to nip at his collar bone, Molly snaked her arm under the silky soft fabric and wrapped it around his unclothed waist. She brushed her nose against his chest, and whispered, low and intimate, “Maybe I like being your prisoner.”

 

“Go, Hooper,” he rumbled against her hair, his mouth grazing her forehead gently, “bath first then bedroom. Then you can tell me exactly what you have in mind.”

 

_Ooohh,_ Molly smiled gleefully, stripping off and heading straight for her bath, _this day was suddenly looking up!_

 

* * *

 

 

Two glasses of wine and one gloriously hot bath later, Molly stepped into their bedroom. A spark of electricity fluttered and fizzed low in her stomach at the sight that awaited her.

 

Sherlock knelt naked on their bed, a halo of silver iris shining around darkened eyes, his skin glowing in the low light. Inky eyelashes cast shadows across his high cheekbones, his lips achingly perfect and rosy from wine, and long graceful limbs held with the elegance and poise of an artist’s model; his lean body that of a runner or a dancer, his face in half-light that of a carved angel.

 

With his hand outstretched, beckoning her to join him, his eyes lingered on her bare breasts for a moment before he dragged them slowly up and down her body; hazel lashes fluttered coyly when his eyes, full of mischief and want, met hers. With a husky little growl he spoke her name.

 

When their fingers entwined, he pulled her to him; his long, thick cock, already at half-mast grazed her belly. Lowering his lips to her, close enough to kiss, he let his hands sink into her hair, while hers drifted across his body.

 

Without conscious thought she leaned into him, tilting her head and closing her eyes, her body rested against his. Instinct drawing her into his touch, her waiting lips welcoming his velvet soft tongue; passion and adoration binding themselves together as they poured into one another’s arms.

 

Sherlock’s hands, feather light and smooth as satin, skimmed along her slender body to the swell of her backside as he kissed her. Breathlessly he broke away from her mouth, and rested his head against hers, “Lie down,” he commanded in a hoarse whisper.

 

Her lips stole one last kiss before complying. Molly, reclining on a crisp white cloud of pillows, displayed her body to him, arms crossed loosely above her head, her hair spread out messily in a candle lit crescent around her.

 

Sherlock straddled her thighs, and bent to kiss the curve of her hip, murmuring “Turn over my angel, face down.”

 

He moved just enough to let her obey his instruction, then pinned her body down again with his. Warming the massage oil he’d taken from the bedside table between his hands, then gliding them up along the planes of her back, across her shoulders, then down again until he reached the dimples at the small of her back; smiling to himself when she arched her body, her hips, reaching for his touch. Pressing the heels of his hands gently to the base of her back, he began the journey upward again, but this time he let his fingers drift to her sides on the downward strokes to skim the edges of her breasts then continue again to reach lower on her backside.

 

Her body warmed under his touch. Sherlock let his hands stray further and further down with every careful stroke, letting his fingers caress her breasts with every well planned sweep of her sides.

 

Sitting back, he nudged her legs apart with one knee, and then knelt between them. Molly’s body was spread out before him, the crimson flesh of her depilated and damp sex peeking out deliciously between her legs. Involuntarily he licked his lips.

 

“So tell me,” he pulled her leg onto his lap, bending it at the knee to rub circles into her oil slicked thighs; his finger tips teasing her labia, eliciting a moan that was smothered beneath her, but that he could still feel in his prick. “What little game have you been thinking about, my sweet, filthy girl.”

 

The rise and fall of her breathing, that had been deep and slow, became quicker, excited; her face blushing prettily. Sherlock’s hands slid higher and higher along her legs, his thumbs spreading her open when his firm hands reached the apex of her thighs.

 

A groan that resolved itself in his name escaped her lips when he shifted and lowered his mouth to her core, “Sherlock?”

 

“Hmm?” he hummed as his clever tongue lapped at her wet, warm centre.

 

“Did you get me relaxed and tipsy just so I’d have sex with you?” tilting her hips up to give him better access, she felt him smile against her sensitive flesh, “Because, _Oh!,_ ” his tongue darted to her clitoris, “you _really_ didn’t have to.”

 

She heard a rumbling laugh in his chest, the vibration of his voice when he spoke ridiculously good against her pussy, “No…I got you relaxed and tipsy so that you would tell me what you have been thinking about. It’s been an age since we last played one of our little games.”

 

Her breathing becoming erratic, her voice rough, “It’s only been two weeks since I pretended to be a call girl for you.”

 

“Yes,” he peppered her damp thighs with tiny kisses, “like I said, an age.”

 

“Well, there is _something_. Something I’ve been thinking about since the first time I saw you on a case with the Met.”

 

A beautiful rose coloured blush blooming on her cheeks, breathing a satin soft sigh, Molly began, “I’ve been arrested, a suspect in a case, and a tall, dark, curly haired detective has come to my cell to interrogate me. He’s fit, you know, really gorgeous…he’s been asking me questions for hours, but I refuse to talk.”

 

Sherlock’s thumbs spread her now dripping folds open, sweeping his velvet tongue the length of her hot pussy, nipping the supple flesh of her backside when his mouth reached her curves. “Good girl, just as I’ve taught you. Go on,” he rumbled as his lips did something delicious to her lower back.

 

“He’s beginning to get frustrated with me, pacing the room, agitated. Then you,” _Dammit_ , “I mean _he_ suddenly stops and looks at me, something igniting in his eyes.”

 

Sherlock’s body moved languidly, feline, to cover hers. With his chest pressed to her back, Molly felt his oiled hand move between their bodies to wrap around the hard rod of his shaft, caressing himself from root to tip.

 

Still stroking himself, she felt her lover press a hot, wet kiss to the downy nape of her neck, his breath ghosting against her hair.

 

“He tells me that if I won’t talk, he’ll find another use for my mouth.”

 

“ _Fuck,”_ Sherlock sighed, and rutted, just once, against her arse. His now freed hand slid beneath her body to fondle her breast, massaging the scented oil into her delicate skin with firm strokes, intensifying her arousal.

 

_‘Oh,’_ she moaned in response to his touch; when her nipple stiffened he traced the gentle contour of her scapula with his lips.

 

“‘Strip,’ he tells me. But I turn instead to look at the two way mirror that covers one wall.”

 

Sherlock took her pebbled nipple between his fingers, pinching and rolling. When Molly sighed, he pinched again, this time a little harder. Catching her earlobe between his teeth, he tugged and nipped at it, then asked, “Who is watching from behind the mirror, Molly?”

 

“I don’t know who they are, but I can hear men’s voices. I can feel their eyes on me,” Sherlock’s cock pressed against her slick folds, “but he tells me again to strip, or he’ll rip the clothes from my body.” Molly squirmed against the mattress, desperate for pressure on her aching clit.

 

“ _Ah-ah-ah…,”_ Sherlock scolded, “I know you want to come, but not yet.” His large hands moved beneath her to turn her over, and he settled again between her legs, the tip of his cock instinctively finding her entrance.

 

Molly’s eyelashes fluttered closed when his teeth scraped over her nipple, biting gently, flicking it with his tongue. When he rose up to take her mouth, his chest brushed against her hardening peaks. His voice erotic and deep, his fingers on her clit, petting her, with long strokes and firm presses, “So you let them watch you take your clothes off?”

 

“Yes. I can’t help but feel aroused, the way he watches me, it’s sexy as fuck…I know he wants me. My nipples are hard and I’m wet between my thighs.”

 

The steel rod of Sherlock’s cock pushed into her in one long, glorious slide. Gasping with sheer want Molly continued, “His hand pushes into my hair, and for a moment I think he’s going to kiss me. But then he wraps my pony tail into his fist and pushes me to my knees in front of him. He tilts my head back and hooks his fingers into my mouth to open it, ready to take his cock. He unzips his trousers and takes himself out.”

 

“Tell me what it looks like,” Sherlock pumped into her. Once, twice, then stopped when Molly moaned and bucked back. “Tell me my angel, or I won’t let you come,” he said as he sucked a livid mark into her collarbone.

 

“It’s long, thick, just like yours,” Molly cried out when Sherlock pressed his thumb against the hard nub of her clitoris, “he’s excited enough that there’s a bead of pre-come at the tip, he smears it along my bottom lip, then pushes his cock into my mouth. I’m moaning around him because he feels so good on my tongue and in my throat, so he calls me a wanton little whore, and tells me to look him in the eye while I suck him off.”

 

“ _Christ_ ,” Sherlock groaned, lifting Molly’s legs to hook around his waist, his hips beginning a slow rhythm of lazy thrusts against the beautiful body of the woman beneath him. Molly’s hands reached up to scratch Sherlock’s scalp, pull his hair. He breathed warm against her lips, his voice rough, “then what?”

 

“Then he tells me that he’ll give me another chance to talk. But when he pulls out of my mouth, he lifts me off the floor and bends me over, face down, on the table in the centre of the room. He nudges my legs apart with his knee, and I can see in the mirror that he pushes his trousers down to mid-thigh. I try to get up even though I don’t really want to and he takes my wrists-”

 

“Like this?” Sherlock asked, taking both her wrists in one large hand, pinning them above her head, the undulations of his body becoming faster.

 

“No, he takes his belt off, maybe to whip me,” she sighed, “but then he changes his mind and binds my hands together-”

 

“But I don’t wear a belt…” his nose crinkling in confusion.

 

“No. But _he_ does,” his new wife gave him a pointed look, “and even though I struggle against the grip he has on my wrists he doesn’t let go. ‘ _You’ve been warned, I won’t tolerate disobedience,_ ’ he tells me and then raises his hand up and smacks my backside. Hard.”

 

“Oh, _fuuuck_ Molly,” her husband groaned.

 

“It’s hot and it stings, but he does it again and again, as I watch him in the mirror. By the time he stops my skin is red and aching, but my pussy has been getting wetter and wetter, and now it's pulsing and throbbing in time with my heartbeat. I see him line up his cock against my cunt and then he pushes in, all the time telling me that soon it will be the turn of the men who are watching me from behind the mirror. He keeps pounding into me, telling me how tight I am, how wet for him I am. And it’s the truth, I want more, harder, faster, and, and-”

 

There was nothing tentative about the way Sherlock took her mouth in an exquisitely dirty kiss, Molly’s hips rolling and sliding against him. Releasing her hands, he shifted onto his elbows changing the angle just enough that he hit her sweets spot on every insistent stroke.

 

Her eyes dark, like liquid sin, her ribcage rising and falling against him. Molly, now clutching and kneading his plump, smooth arse, forcing him deeper and deeper, as Sherlock pistoned in and out. The sounds of harsh breathing and the slap of skin on skin carrying on the air.

 

Curls of lust wound through him at the sight of Molly, her eyes hooded and lips bitten as she arched her body up to meet his, pressing her breasts to his chest, wild and gorgeous and indescribably beautiful beneath him.

 

“ _Molly_ ,” he begged as he fucked into her.

 

 Her groans became soft whimpers and sighs as she tried to speak, to complete the fantasy for him. For them both. “And-And he gives it to me, gives me his big, stiff cock. Fucking me so hard I can feel him throbbing inside me. In the mirror I can see the muscles in his arse flex and tighten. Then he comes so hard I can feel his hot semen spilling inside me, running down my thighs when he pulls out.”

 

Sherlock gasped as Molly clenched around him, his breathing shuddering, trying to last as long as he could to fuck her through her orgasm. Undone, his wife screamed his name, her body bowed and her head thrown back in ecstasy to expose her slender neck, her blunt fingernails leaving half-moons in the soft flesh of his backside as he plundered her sex.

 

When the aftershocks of her orgasm passed, Molly’s hands glided along the rippling muscles of his back. His lips descended to the tiny beauty mark, just below her jaw, and Molly whispered in his ear, “Come for me darling.”

 

Sherlock gasped out his climax in short strangled breaths, the overwhelming sensation of pleasure that tingled all the way down his back and into his balls only intensified when Molly wove her fingers into his curls and pulled. His lips on hers were wet and frantic, star bursts igniting behind his eyes as he came.

 

Chest still heaving, Sherlock’s elbows collapsed, his wife wrapping her limbs around him, his breath escaped him on a sigh of pure pleasure.

 

When they got their breath back, they kissed, languid and loving. Wrapping his arms beneath her to hold his lover ever closer, he pillowed his head on her shoulder, his heart still beating heavy and good, his body still joined with hers.

 

Molly, now breathing softly, relaxed and boneless in the aftermath of her orgasm, was the first to speak, “I love you, you know?”

 

He wanted to tell her how grateful he was for that, that she had given her heart to him. He wanted to explain how lonely his life had been, how dark shadows had followed him all of his life until the bright and shining light that was Molly Hooper had set him free. To tell her how that first, longed for and deeply affecting kiss had changed him, irrevocably, for the better. Instead, he said, “I do my angel,” pressing a tender kiss to her glistening skin, “and I love you too.”

 

“Good,” she laughed, “because you’re not ever going to get rid of me.”

 

“Apparently not,” soft lips nipped at her shoulder and neck, grinning like an impish little boy, “despite my best efforts.”

 

They kissed gently for a while, exchanging loving looks and soft, satisfied smiles, when Sherlock asked, “Is this something you’d like to do? To act out?”

 

“ _Hmm_ ,” she hummed contented, “Yes please.”

 

“All of it, I mean. You want everything you’ve described?” his voice wavered a little.

 

Ever perceptive, Molly heard his armour crack; she turned to look at him and blinked owlishly, “What’s wrong?”

 

“Nothing, it’s just,” he tucked his face into the crook of her neck and closed his eyes. His lips mumbled against her skin, and his voice broke almost imperceptibly, “It’s just, the men, watching you. I love you, _all_ of you, and I want to make you happy but I couldn’t stand that, Molly. I couldn’t bear to have you looked at that way by anyone but me.”

 

“ _Sherlock_ ,” Molly hooked a finger under his chin and looked him in the eye, “I don’t want that either, it’s a fantasy, we can pretend they’re there. That’s all it has to be, pretend. I-” she huffed a voiceless little sigh, “I’ll only ever want you.”

 

“Really?”

 

“Yes, my darling, _really_.”

 

“Good. That’s, ah…good,” he relaxed into her embrace once more. “Just one more thing though Molly.”

 

“What, my darling?” she asked, stroking his raven hair.

 

“ _If_ I wear a belt, you have to promise you won’t ask for other silly adornments like… _cufflinks_ , or a _tie_ ,” he uttered the words with distain, “I don’t indulge myself with such vanities.”

 

Molly glanced to the wardrobe, packed full of Spencer Hart suits, Dolce & Gabbana shirts, and the Belstaff that hung from the back of the bedroom door. Trying hard not to tease, she said, “Course you don’t, darling.”

 

A flash of inspiration striking him, he nuzzled against her, “You know though, we could satisfy your voyeuristic tendencies another way…”

 

“Oh?”

 

“I could put a camera behind the mirror, film us…” he waved a hand between them, “you know, shagging.”

 

“We _definitely_ could do that,” aiming for nonchalance, her voice betrayed her and came out high and excited, “and I could add it to my private collection.”

 

“You have a private collection?” Looking at her, his nose wrinkled in confusion.

 

“The video you sent, last week, when you were on that case in Manchester,” she squirmed and laughed brightly when he pinched her.

 

“I told you to delete that the minute you’d finished watching it,” indignant, he pinched her again, this time she shrieked with laughter.

 

“Well exactly,” Molly smirked, smug and self-satisfied, “I haven’t finished watching it yet. In fact, I don’t think I’ll _ever_ be finished with it. Anyway,” she deflected, “you’ve got bigger things to worry about – it’s your turn to come up with the next game.”

 

“Oh, that’s not a problem,” and damn it if his softened cock wasn’t starting to show an interest in proceedings again, “you remember I once told how I loved to dance…?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Well…”

 


End file.
